REBLOG IF ITS OKAY TO TALK TO YOU.

infinite darkness/death island leon is just so yummy omfg my toes literally curl just at the sight of him and his nose??? GOOD GOD i just want this 😺 on it :((

HE IS SO

“he said, "lana rey, will you serve me lemonade?" I said, "yes bill, i will, it's the day of the parade" and you look even more handsome than you did the day that I left you"

Leon in Wesker’s Suit + Lexington glasses

could you put your longer fics under a read more?

Yes! As soon as I can get tumblr working on my laptop again I’m going to go back and fix that and also some formatting issues

fuck sitting on leon’s face HAVE HIM SIT ON MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHEN I TELL YOU TO SIT ON MY FACE LEON DONT JUST PUT 10% OF YOUR BODY WEIGHT DOWN. FUCKING SIT ON IT. SIT. LIKE A CHAIR. don’t ask if i can breathe. just. sit. down.

Jason Todd x m!reader - Red Light

thinking .... mmmmm

smut below the cut

WORD COUNT : 1,983

Contains UNSAFE driving practices and some public play !! Read responsibly !!

You’d barely pulled up to the light before Jason’s arms tightened around your waist, and you felt the shift. Not just him scooting closer for warmth or balance—no, this was intentional. His chest pressed flush to your back, chin resting on your shoulder, and then there it was:

His hand, slipping under your jacket. Then under your shirt.

Cool fingers dragging along your stomach.

"Jay,” you mutter, adjusting your grip on the handlebars. “Don’t start.”

“M’not doing anything,” he says way too innocently, nuzzling against your neck. “Just keepin’ warm.”

But then the light stays red a second too long.

And his hand starts to wander.

You feel him undo the button on your jeans with a quick, practiced flick of his fingers. One second he’s warm and cozy, the next he’s in your pants, fingers brushing against your already half-hard cock like he knew what he was doing.

“Jay,” you warn again, more strained this time.

“What? Can’t help it,” he says, voice low and full of that smug, shit-eating grin you don’t even need to see to know is plastered across his face. “You look hot like this. All big and growly on your bike. Makes me wanna ruin your focus."

The light turns green.

You expect him to stop. To behave, at least until the next stop.

But instead? He tightens his legs around your waist and keeps going, fingers curling around your cock, slow and deliberate.

“Jason,” you grit, trying to breathe through the heat curling up your spine. “We’re in traffic.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just above your jacket collar, where your helmet doesn't cover. “So don’t crash, babe.”

The little shit just starts jerking you off while you’re driving, like it’s nothing. The way he tugs slow and firm, fingers teasing over the head—he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s delighting in your struggle to keep it together.

Every bump in the road makes you jolt in his grip, and you swear he’s grinding against your back on purpose.

“You're gonna kill us both,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

“Guess that means you better finish quick, huh?”

He knows he’s fucked.

You don’t say a word as you step off the bike, but Jason knows. He sees the way your jaw’s clenched, the way your hands flex at your sides.

He doesn’t even make it past the kitchen.

You grab him by the back of his jacket, slam him up against the counter hard enough to rattle the spice rack, and then twist him around to bend him right over the table.

“Thought you were funny, huh?” you growl against his ear, already undoing his jeans with practiced, angry fingers. “Touching me like that on the road. Could’ve wrecked us.”

“Mmm, but we didn’t,” he says with a smirk you can hear in his voice, even as his breath catches. “You always drive better with a little pressure, babe.”

You shove his jeans down far enough to expose that ridiculously perfect ass and palm it roughly, giving it a hard slap that makes him jolt, the table creaking under him.

“Oh, you’re so full of it,” you mutter. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this the whole damn ride. Just needed to poke the bear.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he pushes his hips back into you, taunting, like he’s begging for it.

“Well?” Jason’s voice is thick now, low and fucked. “You gonna do something about it?”

You answer with your teeth.

Biting the back of his neck, pressing your hips flush to his bare ass, grinding against him slow and hard just to make him squirm. He gasps, hands scrambling for purchase against the table, because you haven’t even touched his cock yet, and he’s already leaking.

“Look at you,” you murmur, dragging your cock along his entrance, not even pushing in—just rubbing it there to drive him insane. “You wanted to ruin me, Jay. But now you’re the one begging.”

Jason’s voice is hoarse now. “Fuckin’ take me, already—”

And you do.

One smooth, deep thrust has him arching over the table, a ragged moan tearing from his throat as your hips snap into him. You don’t hold back. You don’t go easy. Not after what he pulled.

You ruin him.

Thrust after punishing thrust, hand in his hair to yank his head back, teeth at his throat, your other hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking in time with every movement.

“So cocky,” you growl, biting down on his shoulder. “But you love getting fucked like this. Bent over, used. My pretty little backseat bitch.”

Jason loses it.

Moaning, gasping, body trembling as you work him harder, rougher, until his knees start to buckle.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m—” he chokes, and you stroke him faster, fucking into him so deep he screams into the crook of his arm, whole body convulsing as he explodes, spilling across the table in thick, hot spurts.

But you don’t stop.

Not until you’ve finished too, spilling deep inside him, groaning low against his sweat-slicked spine as you collapse forward, panting.

For a long second, all you can hear is the sound of your heavy breaths and Jason’s shaky whimpers.

Then, from where he’s still draped across the table, boneless and wrecked, Jason huffs a breathless little laugh.

“So... red light hand stuff’s still on the table, right?”

You spank his ass hard enough to make him yelp.

“You’re lucky I didn’t pull over and fuck you fucking side sadle.”

Jason’s grin is filthy.

“Next time… don’t hold back.”

Oh, you're the menace now.

Jason’s still draped over the table, breath hitching in his throat, legs shaky, whole body flushed and twitching from the intensity of it all. He’s sticky—soaked in his own release, glistening across the wood and his skin in creamy streaks. He hasn’t even recovered, still trying to catch his breath, when he hears your boots shuffle behind him.

“Stay still,” you murmur, voice thick, wrecked, but hungry. “Not done yet.”

Jason blinks, lifting his head just enough to look over his shoulder.

“The fuck else could you possibly—”

He chokes the rest off as your hands slide up his thighs, prying them apart again. His oversensitive cock twitches against his stomach, and he barely has time to react before your tongue licks a long, slow stripe across the mess he left behind.

Jason whines—no other word for it—his back arching, hips jerking from the overwhelming overstimulation as your mouth starts cleaning him up.

“Jesus—babe, you’re fucking filthy—”

"Mhmm..." You hum against his skin, not even pretending to argue. You are. Tongue dragging through the mess on his thighs, lips catching the pearly streaks dripping from his ass, his cock, the table—everywhere he and you spilled, you chase it, slow and deliberate, like it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Y’don’t have to—fuck—do that,” Jason mutters, but his voice cracks halfway through because your tongue flicks over the sensitive underside of his cock again, and he nearly crumples.

“But I want to,” you murmur, licking a drop off the curve of his hip, your hands holding him still when he starts to squirm. “You taste too good to waste.”

Jason lets out a shaky moan, knuckles white against the edge of the table.

“Fucking insatiable,” he gasps.

You just smirk, breath warm against the inside of his thigh as you suck the last of his release off his softening cock, slow and messy on purpose. You know it’s too much, you know it’s driving him mad—but you want to see him fall apart again, wrecked and trembling from just your tongue.

“That’s what you get,” you murmur between licks. “You start it in public, I finish it everywhere else.”

Jason groans, breathless and flushed, head dropping back onto the table as he shivers through another wave of overstimulation.

“You’re gonna kill me, y’know that?”

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before standing up, dragging your tongue over your lips.

“Not till I’m full, babe.”

Jason’s still face-down on the kitchen table, legs trembling, skin flushed, and leaking just a little down the inside of his thighs—but you?

You step out onto the balcony like you just conquered a war.

The night air is crisp, cooling the sweat clinging to your neck as you strike a match one-handed, the flame flickering golden against your still-blown pupils. You bring the cigarette to your lips and inhale slow, the ember flaring hot as you lean against the railing and look out over the city, still half-hard and satisfied.

Behind you, you can hear Jason groaning faintly—something about being broken, maybe ruined, and absolutely not able to walk. You smirk to yourself and take another drag.

“You alive in there?” you call lazily, exhaling smoke into the dark.

Jason’s voice is wrecked, hoarse as hell. “Barely. You got a goddamn problem, y’know that?”

You chuckle, tossing your head back to blow smoke toward the stars.

“You’re the one who got handsy in traffic, baby. I’m just returning the favor.”

He grumbles something unintelligible, followed by the creak of the table and a thump as he finally slides to the floor. You imagine him sitting there, legs spread, hair a mess, probably still dripping.

You take another slow drag.

“Want a hit?”

“Want a hospital,” he mutters.

You hear him stumble to the doorway, leaning against the frame in nothing but his half-buttoned shirt, eyes hazy but starved. Even now, after you’ve wrung him out completely, he’s staring at you like he might drop to his knees again if you crook your finger.

You hold the cigarette out to him.

He steps out barefoot, takes it between his lips, and leans in close—close enough to still taste himself on your mouth. When he exhales, it’s smoke and a soft laugh.

“So... when’s round two?”

You cock an eyebrow, smirk curling at the edge of your lips.

“Whenever you can stand without wobbling like a newborn deer, sweetheart.”

Jason grins—teeth sharp, eyes dangerous.

“Then I better hydrate.”

That cigarette burns down to the filter, and the quiet between you settles soft, warm. The kind that only comes after you’ve really let go of everything—clothes, pride, tension. It’s the hour of sticky skin and whispered nothings, where every touch feels closer to the bone.

You stub it out in the ashtray on the railing, then tug Jason in by the waistband of his boxers. He doesn’t resist, just melts into you like muscle memory—arms slinging around your waist, nose tucked against your collarbone. You walk him back inside like that, bare feet on cold floors, hearts thudding in sync.

By the time you crawl into bed, he’s already half-asleep on your chest, one leg slung over your thigh and his fingers loosely curled in the hem of your shirt. But before you let yourself fully drift—

“Y’know…” you murmur, brushing your hand lazily through his hair, “you really shouldn’t be grabbing my dick while I drive, baby.”

Jason lets out a tired, little heh, muffled against your skin.

“Worth it.”

You pinch his side. “Could’ve crashed. Killed us both.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Because I’m a goddamn professional,” you say, exasperated but fond. “Next time you get that twitchy, at least wait till I park.”

Jason nuzzles in tighter. You can feel the curve of his grin against your chest.

“You love it.”

You sigh, kiss the crown of his messy hair, and mumble—

“I do. Even if you’re a little stupid.”

He snorts, and you feel the way his whole body relaxes against yours, like that soft little confession smoothed out every last knot of tension in him.

You wrap both arms around him tighter.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, just breathes slow and deep. Then, so quiet you almost miss it—

“Love you too.”

You smile into his hair.

Sleep comes easy after that.

BOTTOM JASON SUPREMACY

Not to be TMI but…

Highlight of my Evening

Weed smoking, high sex on the porch

The sound of the door opening draws your from your pleasant, blissed-out state of mind, pulling you back to reality. “You okay out here honey?” It’s your husband, Jotaro, checking on you. He steps out, closing the door behind him and resting his hands against the back of your chair, looking down at you. “I’m alright baby, you going to bed,” you question, looking up at him, blowing a billow of smoke into his face. “Hm not yet, that’s not a cigarette is it?” You giggle at his question. “Course not, I’m not a chimney like you. You want some, old man?” “Mh, I think I’ll leave the Pot to the young.” “Come on you’re not that old, Joots.” “‘M twenty years older than you.” “So,” you question, lifting the joint up to him. “You want some baby? You ever smoked pot?” “Can’t say I have.” “Mh, can’t or won’t? Will you at least sit with me baby, It’s cold.” He hums and picks you up, taking your spot in the chair and sitting you in his lap. You crane your neck and capture his lips in a warm kiss, making you let out a satisfied groan against him.

So he was a horny smoker. Good to know. His teeth sink into the flesh of your throat before soothing it with the warmth of his tongue. “You’re so pretty, you know that? My pretty little wife, love you so much,” he murmurs, burying his face in your tits and humming. Lovey too. Every roll of his hips pushed his erection into your clothed crotch. You pull his face from your tits and bring him to look at you. “You horny Joots?” He lets out a strangled “Yes,” and slips his hands under your shirt, running his fingers along the flesh of your stomach. You pull your shirt over your head and toss it to the side, leaning in for more kisses, which Jotaro happily obliges you with. Your hands slide between the two of you, undoing his belts and pants, slipping under them and caressing his cock through his boxers. He groans and bucks his hips into your hand, silently begging you to keep going. His fingers trace gently over you through your shorts, pushing them to the side and stroking your clit at a languid pace. You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips into his hand greedily as you pull him out of his boxers. “How do you want me baby,” you question, stroking his hair from his face. “I wanna hold you,” he whispers, stroking your cheek with his free hand. “I wanna be as close as possible.”It’s strange seeing him like this, his teal eyes rimmed with red, his jaw slack, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, needy little sounds spilling past his lips. He’s beautiful, but in a different way than he usually is. He’s vulnerable like this, asking for what he wants instead of waiting for you to catch on. It’s endearing to see your husband let his guard down so low like this, sacred even. You kiss his cheek and get up, shedding your shorts and turning your back on him, holding yourself above his cock. Moans tumble from both of you as you sink down onto him, taking him all in with ease, something that had taken practice to be able to achieve. He wraps his arms around your waist, trailing one hand down to toy with your clit as you press your back into his broad chest

You woke up a few hours later laying on Jotaro’s chest in your shared bed. At some point he must have taken you in and put you in your pyjamas before falling asleep too. You slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, and tiptoe to the kitchen for some water. You bring a glass back upstairs for him, certain that his mouth will be as dry, if not more so than yours was when he wakes up.

When you slip back into the bedroom, he’s already awake, stretching and yawning, which was understandable since that was probably the first deep sleep he’s had in weeks. “I brought you some water,” you hum, sliding back under the covers. “Thank you, my mouth is,” he smacks his tongue a few times. “It's so dry.” You let out a chuckle and pass him the glass before snuggling into his side. “Do you remember last night, or did you smoke too much?” “I remember. We should do that again some time, I really enjoyed it.” “Really? Like seriously, you like smoking weed now?” He lets out a hearty laugh, which is good to hear opposed to his usual suppressed chuckle. “You kidding? This is the best I’ve felt since I was, mh, probably fifteen.” “Really?” “Yeah I feel great. I slept great. I think I need a nap though,” he laughs, laying back down and pulling the blankets up to his chin. You laugh and do the same, curling up against his chest. He lets out a contented sigh and wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, falling asleep without a problem for the second time in years.

Thank you so much!! It really means so much to me when people let me know that what I write resonated with them in some way.

/gen

Leon Kennedy is traumatized

I love the Leon fluff as much as the next guy but

He’s a great boyfriend but sometimes he doubts himself so much he makes himself distant.

He’s always the big spoon because he can’t imagine not being able to protect you, even while he’s sleeping.

Most of the time it’s hard for him to sleep, so he just lays there holding you, stroking your hair and reminding himself that you’re real and you’re safe. Usually that’s enough to relax him enough to finally be able to fall asleep.

After being with him for so long you’ve learned to tell when he’s having nightmares and wake him up before he wakes himself up. If he starts himself awake he either holds you so tight you can barely breathe, or gets up and locks himself in the bathroom, but either way, he doesn’t speak.

Begs you not to leave him, even though you’ve never even thought about it. He’s so scared he’s going to push you away and make you leave. He needs you to know that he needs you.

Physical touch is very important to him. He worries that if he’s not touching you you’ll disappear. When you’re at home he leans against you while you sit together, or he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, chin on your shoulder as he watches your hands work on whatever it is you’re doing.

In public he’s always holding your hand, or if you’re out to dinner he stretches his leg out to be able to rest it against one of yours.

When he cries, you hold him, squeezing his shaking shoulders and telling him that everything’s okay, that he’s safe.

When he has to go on a mission he makes sure to hold you extra tight before he leaves, and you always promise you’ll be right there waiting for him.

Sometimes he just calls Ashley and hangs up as soon as she answers, not wanting to really talk to her, just making sure she’s actually alive and safe.

It takes him weeks to decompress from a mission. He’s always on edge, jumping at the smallest sounds. He pulled a knife on you once while he was cooking because he didn’t hear you come in.

He was absolutely inconsolable after that, he just felt so guilty. He almost left you because he was scared it would happen again and he would actually hurt you

Considers therapy but realizes it’ll never work because everything that’s happened is classified.

Develops a bit of a drinking problem the older he gets. It’s just gets so much harder for him to bounce back mentally the more he goes through and he doesn’t know what to do.

Hopes he’ll live long enough to retire, but also kind of hopes he’ll die on a mission, but not really, but maybe you’d be better off without him, but he’d still feel bad leaving you behind.

His micro-expressions have me in a chokehold….

Day so long I gotta get in the soup